


Steamtalia

by SkyEverett



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Airships, Alchemy, Alternate Universe - Steampunk, F/M, Steampunk
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-23
Updated: 2016-05-25
Packaged: 2018-03-14 19:18:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 13
Words: 17,262
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3422600
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SkyEverett/pseuds/SkyEverett
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Irish Twins America and Canada catch a ride aboard the airship Nautilus, and they meet plenty of other nations, as well as different airships. But by doing so, they've gotten themselves into a war with the airship Goliath...and there's no going back.  Steampunk Hetalia.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

    A young boy sat at a desk, the room lit only by a candle.  The full moon shone brightly, illuminating the outside world in a peaceful white light.  The boy smiled as he watched his older brother tinker with spare parts in the backyard, dancing around when he got two parts to fit, and then swearing loudly when they sparked or broke apart again.    
  
    “He just doesn’t know what sleep is.”  
  
    But the boy wasn’t sleeping either.  He had just finished the sketches of something he saw in his mind.  If Mother was here, he thought, she’d think I was a genius.    
  
    They were two rare boys, Irish twins born of pure Native American descent, yet they had the looks of the pale-faced Europeans who had killed their mother.  They weren’t ones for holding grudges, though.  
  
    The boy rubbed a little spare charcoal off the paper and stood back to admire it.  It was a picture of a wing, extended to its fullest.  The boy shook his head in wonder.    
  
    “We’re going to need more parts.”


	2. Aeris Navem

    England placed a hand on the ground and focused.  Though it was faint, he could just make out a vibration in the earth.  It didn’t sound too far away; in fact, it sounded very near, maybe a few hundred feet away.  England focused harder.  The vibration paused, then adopted a rhythm.   _Boom.  Boom.  Boom._  
  
    Footsteps.  
  
    England’s eyebrows rose in surprise.  Enemy troops?  No, it was something else.  Something mechanical.    
  
    Very slowly, a smile spread across his face.  Was this what they’d been tracking for all these months?  Felt like it.  He moved to make a note in his log.  It wasn’t that far ahead; he could catch up to it if he ran fast enough…  
  
    “LOOK OUT!” yelled someone.    
  
    England whipped his head around just in time to see something—most definitely a human something—crash into him.  The man’s weight caught England smack in the chest and landed him on his back—hard.  England whispered a curse and kicked upward blindly.  The man bellowed and rolled off of England, screaming profanities.  England jumped back to his crouching position and felt the ground again.  It was still there, but growing fainter.  He was going to lose it, especially with that man’s crying.  “Shut up!” hissed England.  The man stifled a yell.  England abandoned all tracking instructions and just ran after the thing.  
  
    It was just like in the blueprints.  The thing was about twice as tall as England himself and had the likeness of…well, a robot.  It was a faded gold color with an Iron Cross stamped over its heart.  This used to be one of Germany’s best weapons…that is, before he lost control over it.  Automatons did that sometimes…just glitched and glitched until they threw off the instructing code.  So the main objective here was to shut it down.    
  
    The robot turned and charged at England.  England calmly stepped aside and let his hand brush its leg.  The metal felt old.  In fact, England figured one blow in the right place would just knock it over.    
  
    “E-excuse me!”  This time England ducked, but when he looked up, he found that he didn’t need to.  The warning had come from a few feet above him.  A young man was jumping—no, flying, with wings—right at the robot.  The man was holding a black crowbar, one that he used to smash the robot’s head as it flew by.  The robot stopped in its tracks, seemed to shudder, then fell flat on its face, about five feet from England.  
  
    The boy above glided to the ground smoothly, folded his wings and turned to England with a wave.  “H-hi,” he said.  “I’m from the Americas, so…I really hope that was an enemy I just took down.”  England just nodded, too awed to speak.    
  
    “Yo, Mattie!” yelled a voice.  England turned around to see the man from before jogging up to them.  When he finally reached them, England noticed that he and the other man resembled each other in almost every way.    
  
    “Are…are you two related?” asked England.    
  
    “Oh!  Yeah,” answered the second one.  “I’m Canada, and this is my brother America.  We’re both here to try and get some money off this old thing.”  He gestured to the wings on his back.    
  
    England’s awed expression changed to confused remembrance.  “You two…are Alfred and Matthew?”    
    America shared a glance with Canada.  “Yeah, how did you know?”    
  
    “I…I think I’ve met you two.  The little boys who liked working with mechanics…in Michigan, you lived in a little house…but I never met your mother.”    
  
    Canada’s face lit up.  “You’re the man who visited us that one time in the workshop!  Remember, Alfred?  He called you reckless.”    
  
    “And he still hasn’t changed, I see,” answered England, glaring at America.    
  
    “Hey!  I was doing a test drive, I wasn’t playing!”    
  
    “But then he bumped into you,” Canada added.  “I-it was an accident.  But I got to him, took the wings, and went after you.  We just wanted to apologize…so…we’re sorry.”  
  
    “It’s all right,” England answered gruffly.  “But now the crew will wonder what the bloody hell is taking me so long.”  He took a whistle from his vest and blew three times in rapid succession.  No sound came out of the whistle, but a rope descended from out of the clouds to a stop right in front of them.  England grabbed onto the rope.  “Have you boys ever been on an airship?”  Both of them shook their heads.  “Well, just grab on tightly and don’t let go.”  England waited until they had done as he asked, then tugged on the rope three times.  Immediately the rope rose into the air, carrying England, America, and Canada with it.  
  
    “WHOA!” yelled America, clinging to the rope.    
  
    “Don’t look down!” yelled England, which of course caused America to glance behind him.    
  
    “I’M GONNA  _FALL!”_  he screamed.    
  
    “Don’t let go!” yelled Canada.    
  
    “GOOD IDEA, MATTIE!  I’LL KEEP THAT IN MIND!”    
  
     _He’s not scared enough to stop being sarcastic,_  England thought grudgingly.  But then the clouds cleared, and the ship came into view.  
  
    It looked like a gigantic bronze/metal blimp.  Propellers were turning rapidly at the bottom of it and some on the sides.  There were a few windows that they could see, but not much.  
  
    “Better yet, look up, America,” said Canada quietly.  “Such a view…”  America cautiously obeyed and stopped screaming at once.  He, like the other two, could now see the careful beauty of the ship’s form.  
  
    “I see you’ve brought some friends with you, Mr. England!” yelled a girl’s voice as they arrived at the docking platform of the ship.    
  
    “Hardly friends, Ms. Lichtenstein,” England replied as the three pulled themselves onto the platform.  It had a few boxes of food and weapons on it, but not much.  “And you should be in your room, Lili,” added England as they went inside.  “Your brother will be worried for you.”    
  
    “I am worried for my brother, Mr. England,” answered Lichtenstein, who had finally come out so the brothers could see her.  
  
    She was surprisingly very short, not older than 13.  She had a green ribbon in her short light brown hair, eyes that matched the ribbon perfectly, and a small, kind face.  She wore a bronze-colored dress with black ruffles on the hems, sleeves and neckline, with stormy gray tights and matching black boots.  She had a gun at her belt, but she looked like the kind that never needed to use it—someone else usually protected her.  
  
    “And who are these boys?” asked Lichtenstein politely, turning to look at said boys.  Her eyes searched them thoroughly, but came to rest on the wings folded on Canada’s back.  
  
    “They’re old friends from Michigan,” said England before either of the brothers could speak.  “They came to show us this invention of theirs.”  England gestured to the wings, even though Lichtenstein was now openly staring at them in awe.  But within a few seconds, she composed herself and curtsied.  The boys bowed in response.  
  
    “Pleased to meet you, sirs,” said Lichtenstein.  “Welcome to the Airship Nautilus.  I’ll take you to see the second captain at once.”


	3. Navicularius

    Canada couldn’t help but laugh in wonder.  
  
    He was in an airship.  A real, flying airship.  If he could somehow get to study the propellers on the front, he’d have so many notes his entire bedroom back home would be filled.  He had a mind that just never had enough information in it—he was dying to find out how this airship worked.  
  
    “Something wrong, mister?”    
  
    Canada snapped out of his thoughts and looked down at Lichtenstein, who was looking at him worriedly.  “N-no, it’s fine,” he answered breathlessly.  “It’s just…I’ve never been on an airship before and the experience is…”    
  
    “Breathtaking?” guessed Lichtenstein.  Canada nodded.  “I feel the same way every time I look out the window of this ship.  Just knowing that every day we are among the highest clouds in the sky makes me so happy…”    
  
    Canada felt a blush growing on his cheeks as he looked away.  “She’s cute, isn’t she?” asked America.    
  
    “Shut up,” whispered Canada as he felt his blush growing.    
  
    On Canada’s other side, England smiled and patted Canada on the back.  “I’m sure you boys will feel very at home here.  We can find a place for anyone.”    
  
    Canada felt a new strength surge within him and by glancing at America, he knew his brother felt the same thing.  They grew up without assistance or help from anyone, but they had never had a real family (save for a French blacksmith who helped pay for their housing and food).  Now they were going to have a home.  A  _flying_  home.    
  
    And a home that looked like it was made for higher-ups.  The hallways were made with stainless steel and decorated with paintings and blueprints of other airships.  There were rooms with beds, bathrooms, and working desks.  Closets filled with the most intricate of gears and spare parts, most of which could fit together in to create new things.  For a moment, Canada wanted to forget his age and squeal like a child.    
  
    “This is the main room,” announced Lichtenstein as she led the trio into what was obviously “the main room.”  It was more of an oval-like cavern than a room.  The bronze floor echoed slowly as they walked on it, indicating that it was rather hollow underneath.  In the center of the room was a giant bronze globe with colored markers on it like a battle plan.  A wide, circular platform was a few steps from the main floor and a figure—Canada assumed that he was this “second captain” that Lichtenstein had talked about.  The figure stood facing a pane of bullet-proof glass that seemed to replace about an entire wall.  In the center of the platform there was a part that was lowered about a few feet.  Stepping closer, Canada could see that it contained an armchair with thousands of small metal wires connected to it.  It looked like it was molded to fit a person in it.  Canada wondered if it was made for the pilot.  But then the man on the platform turned around and Canada focused on him instead.  
  
    He had light bronze hair and cold indigo eyes that seemed to be made of snow.  He wore a black overcoat that ended past his knees and giant working boots with metal gear-adorned buckles.   A red scarf with clockwork embroidery was wrapped snugly around his neck.  He was already at least six feet tall and standing on the platform.  Canada immediately found him intimidating.    
  
    “Welcome.” The man spoke in an accent that was recognizable as Russian.  “It appears you’ve brought some unexpected guests, England.”  England quickly explained how he met the two boys and about the robot that still was on the ground a few thousand feet below.  The man raised his eyebrows and pulled out a microphone.  He spoke into it in a foreign tongue.  It wasn’t Russian, but it was something that sounded very close to Slavic, at least.  “We got to it before the enemy did.  This is good.”  Finally he addressed the two brothers.  “I trust you have a reason as to why you’re here?”  
  
    America swore under his breath.  “Sorry?  I’m afraid I didn’t quite catch that,” said the man, although Canada was pretty sure the man heard exactly what America had said.    
  
    “W-we, um…” Canada stopped when the man turned to look at him.    
  
     _“Да?”_  said the man, now obviously of Russian descent.  Fortunately, Canada knew enough to know what he said.  “We were hoping to sell this, or at least get some money off the blueprints,” answered Canada, turning around so the man could see the wings on his back.  The man was silent for a while.  Canada was not aware that he had moved until a hand touched his back.  Canada nearly jumped as the man spread the wings with his hands and inspected them.    
  
    “Why are you selling them now?” he asked.  “I see so much more potential in these.  Have you thought of using bronze joints instead of wooden ones?”    
  
    Canada started; he had never thought of that.  That would’ve improved the altitude by at least 10 feet.  “No…I didn’t.”    
  
    “Well, I can give you the things you need to enhance this.  You could make this into something…”  He didn’t finish.  Then he turned to America.  “And you?”    
  
    America frowned.  “I’m his brother; I helped him make the wings.”  Canada nodded, but the man’s attention was still fixed on America, who stared back rather fiercely.  America didn’t like to be put down, especially by people he didn’t know.  The man stared for a long time, nodded, and smiled.  Canada didn’t think it was a smile meant to convey warmth, though.  
  
    “You will address me as Russia,  _да?”_  he said.  “I am the most powerful nation in the world.”  After a few seconds he added, “You are welcome here.”  
  
    Canada relaxed.  So this was Russia, then.  He wasn’t exactly how Canada had pictured him, and definitely not how America had pictured him, but he seemed to be nice…under all that cold.    
  
    “Um…”  Russia turned to him expectantly.  “I…was wondering,” he began, “would you like us to do anything…um… _сэр?”_     
  
    Russia smiled, a little softer this time.  “If you would like,” he said, “you can continue to work on those wings of yours.”    
  
    “All right.”  America grinned.  “Let’s get to work, Mattie.”  Canada nodded and began to walk out of the room, but before he could take two steps, Russia grabbed America’s arm.    
  
    “Oh no, not you,” he said rather cheerfully.  “I think I have a  _special_  job for you.”  Russia walked off, practically dragging America in his wake.    
  
    “Hey—what the—let me go!”    
  
    “Do not worry,  _Канада,”_  called Russia over his shoulder.  “He will be perfectly fine.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So here's chapter two! I know it's short, but to combine it with chapter three would be a bit too long, because we get to see some action in chapter three. Also, I never got to explain what England looks like because the first chapter in set in his point of view. He wears a gray sleeveless tailcoat over a white dress shirt whose sleeves are rolled up. He also wears black pants and black boots. Two steamed-up twin pistols are attached to his belt. He also has a bronze pocket-watch and black finger-less gloves. He has a monocle (like a single one of this http://www.wholesalehalloweencostumes.com/accessories-makeup/eyewear-sunglasses/adult-brown-and-gold-steampunk-goggles-66139F.html?code=CSEshopzilla&CA_6C15C=985315906 ) on his left eye and has a black top hat.
> 
> Also, I based Russia's outfit off of :iconThe-Casual-Observer:'s cosplay as shown here: http://featherwings1638.deviantart.com/art/The-End-of-American-Life-as-We-Know-It-433455647 . Just imagine him without the goggles for now.


	4. Opaca

    “WHAT.  THE.   _HELL!”_  yelled America.  He looked around for someone to help him, anyone, but the entire ship was empty.  Where was the crew?  America had a pistol in his pocket, but the arm that was closest to it was the one Russia was holding, and he would definitely suspect something if America tried to reach over and get it with his other hand.  Russia never said anything, but only tightened his grip as he half-escorted, half dragged America into the darker caverns of the airship.  America found himself getting more and more afraid.  What was this man going to do to him?  He had promised Mattie that he would be fine, but still… this didn’t exactly look reassuring.  “Let GO, you crazy commie!  Where the hell are you taking me?!”    
  
    A few seconds later, America made the choice to never call Russia a “commie” to his face ever again.  
  
    Russia’s grip tightened by about three times the strength—America wondered why his arm wasn’t turning purple by now—and jerked him, so much so that America was thrown off his feet.  His forehead hit the metal floor and his entire vision darkened for a moment.    
  
     _“Ow…”_     
  
    Plus a shiner that felt like hell.  And now he was literally being dragged across the floor.  Russia’s step quickened as he took a sudden right and opened a door, flinging America in front of him, but not loosening the grip on his arm.  
  
    A blast of wind hit America, pressing his glasses against his face.  
  
    They were on a platform about eleven feet wide and ten meters in front of them, one of the propellers of the ship spun at a speed enough to chop them both in half with one swipe.  Russia strode to the edge and held America at arm’s-length away from him.  America frantically grabbed Russia’s arm and dug his feet into the ground.  If America stepped backward even an inch, Russia would be the only thing keeping him from falling.  If Russia let go, he  _would_  fall.  
  
    America now knew what it was like to be afraid of heights.  
  
    “Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god… _get me away from here…!”_     
  
    Russia looked down at him with a hard, rage-filled gaze.  “Maybe I shouldn’t,” he whispered softly.  Then he smiled.  “But I’ve only just met you, and there’s so much I still don’t know about you.  Who knows, you could be a very  _kind, trustworthy,_  and  _resourceful_  young man for all I know.   _Right?”_   America nodded frantically.   _“Хорошо!_   Then let’s get back to business, shall we?”  Russia pulled America back onto the platform and walked inside, still not letting go of America’s arm.  
  
    After a few more twists and turns in the Nautilus’ corridors, Russia and America arrived at what looked like a cellar, but after Russia swung open the door, America could see that it was the ship’s food supply.  The room was huge and stocked with so many goods that America had to keep his mouth from watering too much.  He hadn’t had anything to eat since he and Mattie had gotten off the ship this morning.  
  
    “As you can see, this is the Nautilus’ main food supply,” began Russia.  “Something has been stealing food.”    
  
    America raised an eyebrow.  “There are rats on an airship?”    
  
     _“Ra **t** ,”_ said Russia, emphasizing the “t”.  “Singular.  I would like you to find it for me.  Take all the time you need.  I’ll be waiting.”  And only then, when Russia went to close the door, did he finally let go of America’s arm.  
  
    “Aaaaaaaah…”  America slowly sat down on a wine barrel, rubbing his arm to get the circulation back into it.  Russia had scared him to death.  Literally, if he had said another bad word he would be falling through the air, probably hitting the ground and dying before he could register pain.  America was never going to insult him again.  
  
    But Russia didn’t say anything about not eating.  
  
    In a matter of minutes, America had inhaled an entire loaf of bread.   _Aw, man, that felt good.  Now I’ve just got to capture this little rat and I’ll be set for the day.  I guess I’ll just close my eyes for a while…_ but in a few seconds, America fell into the deep blanket of sleep.  
  
     _Creak._   Pause.   _Creak._  
  
    America’s eyes fluttered as he slowly woke up.  It was really dark in the cellar…the lantern must have gone out.  As he slowly reached into his pocket for some matches, he heard it again: a creaking sound, like something was in the cellar with him.  America slowly stood up, trying not to step on anything important.  “Is…someone there?” he whispered.  Then he stopped.  The rat!  It was in there with him!    
  
    Slowly, cautiously, America drew his pistol, made his way to the door, and stood right in front of it.  If the rat came close to him, he would shoot it.  
  
    After about five minutes of waiting silently, America heard footsteps coming towards him, but they didn’t sound like the pitter-patter of rat feet.  They sounded very much like human footsteps.  Maybe someone was breaking in?  America hefted his pistol and pointed it in front of him in the darkness.  “If you reveal yourself right now,” he said, trying to sound as commanding as possible, “I won’t hurt you.”  
  
    There was a terrified yelp as the footsteps increased, leading away from him.  “Hey, come back here, thief!” yelled America and ran after him, only to run into some shelves.  When he finally was able to grab some matches and light a lantern again, he noticed that the cellar door was open.  He’d let the thief get away!  America groaned.  “Get back here…!”    
  
    Whoever he was, he was pretty fast.  America ran out of breath several times chasing a mere  _shadow_  of the thief through the halls.  Finally he stopped and let out a huge groan.  He could see the moon through the windows, so everyone could be asleep by now.  There might be someone taking a night watch, but he didn’t really want to disturb anyone.  Instead, he shoved his gun in his pocket and walked in the direction he heard the thief run.  He was way too out-of-breath to run, so he slowly walked through the corridors, searching for some means of who he was following.  
  
    A noise.  America’s head snapped up.  Where was it coming from?  He listened closely, and he heard it again.  The engine room.  
  
     _I’ve got you now, little rat._  
  
    America flattened himself against the doorway and waited.  After about five minutes, the door slowly opened and a tiny figure stepped out.  Quickly, America snagged the figure by the arm and finally got a good look at it.  
  
    It was a boy.  
  
    He was blond and fair-skinned, with somewhat bushy eyebrows (not as bushy as England’s) and defiant blue eyes.  He wore a black vest over a white shirt, and black shorts with matching white socks and black shoes.  He also wore a little gray hat on his head.  
  
    “Unhand me, you jerk!” yelled the boy in a squeaky voice.  He raised his other arm to punch America in the face, but America simply picked up the boy and threw him over his shoulder.    
  
    The boy screamed bloody murder.  
  
    “Shut up!” yelled America, but then the boy started to thrash around, demanding to be freed.  

    “Let-me-go-let-me-go-let-me-go-LET-ME-GO!”  
  
    “What on EARTH is the cause of this racket?”  England strode into the corridor, looking tired and drained and extremely angry.  America grinned as best he could and set the boy down, turning him around so he faced England.  Quickly he explained to England what the boy had been doing and where he found him.  With every word, England’s expression changed from interest, to shock, to anger, and finally settled on frustration.  
  
    After America had finished, England put a hand to his face.  “You  _idiot,”_  he hissed at the boy.  “What the  _bloody hell_  do you think you’re doing here?”    
  
    America looked at England, a little confused.  “Do…do you two know each other?”  
  
    “Yes,” answered England, staring at the boy angrily.  “His name is Peter.  He’s my younger brother.”


	5. Auxilium

    “He’s your  _brother?”_  asked America in awe.  Now that he saw the two next to each other, he could see the resemblance.  Their hair was the same color, they both stood in the same haughty pose, even Peter’s eyebrows looked like a shadow of England’s.  
  
    “My name’s not Peter,” exclaimed the boy.  “It’s Sealand!”  
  
    England put a hand to his face and groaned.  “Ugh, here he goes again.”  
  
    “I’m a  _country!_   Don’t deny it, England, I own a barge in the middle of the sea!”  
  
    “It’s still  _my_  barge, Peter!”  
  
     _“Sealand!  Call me by my country’s—!”_  
  
    “What the…hey, what are you guys doing up so late?”  
  
    The two stopped arguing as a fourth young man joined the party.  His hair was stark white, his face was pale, and his eyes were red and glimmered unnaturally, giving him a slightly inhuman look.  
  
    “Oh, hello, Prussia,” said England, regaining his gentlemanly personality almost immediately.  America’s gaze immediately shot to ‘Prussia.’  “But…but that’s impossible, I thought Prussia was—?”  
  
    “Dead?” finished the albino.  “Yeah.  Well, I’m standing in front of you, so how are you gonna deny that I’m still alive?”  
     
    “Well, obviously I can’t,” answered America, a little confused.  
  
    “Wait, you mean you faked your own death?” asked Sealand, staring up at Prussia in wonder.  
  
    “Well…” Prussia scratched the back of his neck.  “Let’s just say… _ja.  Ja,_  I did.”  
  
    “That is so  _awesome!”_  replied Sealand.  
  
    America could almost see Prussia’s ego swelling up at the mention of that last word.  
  
     _“Ja!  Ja,_  I’m the most awesome Prussia; I’m so awesome that I surpassed death!  Kesesesesesesesese!”  
  
     _Was that supposed to be a laugh?_  wondered America.  He pushed it aside.  “What do you do on the ship, man?”  
  
    “Me?! Ha!  What’s the most awesome job on this flying machine?”  
  
    “Um…” America tried to think.  
  
    “He’s the pilot, America, and don’t encourage him,” snapped England.  
  
    “You fly this thing?” asked America, completely ignoring England.  “How?”  
  
    Prussia grinned.  “Well, it’s an awesome job, so it’s only fit for me, but I’ll tell you a few tricks anyw—!”  
  
     _“Англия? Пруссия?_  What is going on?”  
  
    America spun around as Russia appeared—quite literally—out of a corridor.  America knew enough about the Russian language to know that Russia didn’t address him or Sealand, which meant he ranked him with a little sneak who could or could not be an actual country.  He wanted to punch the man.  
  
    Instead, he decided to brag.  He lifted Sealand into the air and placed him in front of Russia.  “’Found the little rat,  _sir.”_  
  
    Russia’s expression was one of surprise; he hadn’t expected the thief to be an actual person.  America’s inside smile grew even smugger.  Then Russia got down on one knee and looked the little kid straight in the eyes.  Sealand probably thought that he was in very big trouble and burst into tears.  
  
    If Sealand was trying to get Russia to stop, it worked; Russia’s eyes widened in confusion, and he stepped away from Sealand, looking from him to England.  “Did I do something?  I did not mean to.”  
  
    “You did nothing wrong.” England sighed and walked over to Sealand, pulling out a pocket handkerchief as he went.  “There, there.  Stop crying, Peter.  Stop crying.”    
  
    To America’s—and Russia’s—amazement, Sealand actually stopped.  Arthur held the handkerchief up to Sealand’s nose for him to blow, then gave him a small hug.  
  
    “How long have you been away from home, Peter?” asked Arthur.  
  
    “T-too l-long to count.” Peter sniffed.  “I j-just wanted t-to come aboard and h-help…”  
  
    “Rare,” commented Prussia, “to see you acting all kind and fatherly like this.”  
  
     _“Молчи, Пруссия,”_  Russia ordered.  Prussia instantly stopped talking.  
  
    “Well, the time for fun and games is over, Peter,” said England.  “You’re here now, but that can’t be helped, so for now, you’re going to work.”  
  
    Sealand nodded.  
  
    “Anything we need help with, if it’s within your power, you do it.  Understand?”  
  
    “B-but…I don’t know anything about running an airship.”  
  
    “You’ve probably explored the interior of this entire ship while you were hiding from us.  No one fits this job better than you.  Do you understand me?”  
  
    Sealand stared at England, finally comprehending.  “You mean…I get to help out?  For real?”  
  
     _“Do you understand me, Peter?”_  
  
    “Yes! Yes, I won’t let you down!”  
  
    England looked up at Russia.  “Do you concur?”  
  
     _“Да.  Спасибо,_  for handling this.”  
  
    “Of course.”  
  
    “So this means I  _am_  a country!” said Sealand.  
  
     _“Not on your life,”_  growled England.

* * *

 

  
    And so it was decided that Sealand would help out.  Canada and America were the ones who needed him the most, as Sealand could find the tiniest nuts and bolts to fit into their wing project.  He was incredibly resourceful and was smarter than he looked.  It was quite cute, in fact.  America felt as if he had a little brother.  Canada, of course, was his younger brother, but he had always thought of Canada as his twin; they were born in the same year.  
  
    Russia seemed to really like Sealand, but was unsure of how to approach him; he was worried that Sealand might be scared of him.  Prussia had officially named Sealand his favorite kid.  Sealand was constantly spending his free time either with Prussia or with Liechtenstein—it was obvious that he really liked her.  Prussia would tease him about it, and America could overhear Sealand’s protests in the hallways.  
  
    Speaking of America, Russia apparently approved of his work, because he left America alone to work with his brother on the wings.  They were making fabulous progress.  The only problem was that they couldn’t find any place to test them, the interior of the ship was too small.  If they could somehow get to the top of the main room, they could glide a little, but not that much.  Canada spoke to Russia about this, and Russia promised them that when they stopped for a shipment trade, he would give the brothers time to test their creation.  
  
    But as they were preparing to touch down over Zürich, something rammed into the side of the ship.  America fell to the floor as the entire ship tilted.  
  
    “What was that?!” exclaimed Canada, running into the main room, America right at his heels.  Russia was already there, scanning the horizons.  “Germans,” he answered.  “We are under attack.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ja - German - yeah/yes  
> Англия - Russian - England  
> Пруссия - Russian - Prussia  
> Молчи - Russian - Be quiet  
> Да - Russian - yes  
> Спасибо - Russian - Thank you


	6. Proelium

    “Sealand, stay down!  Get to the engine room!   _Now!”_  
  
    The little principality obeyed without complaining.  In five seconds he was gone.  
  
    Canada rushed to the window and peered out.  A gigantic black airship was rising from under the clouds; Canada could make out AIRSHIP GOLIATH written on it in bright white letters.  It, like the Nautilus, looked like a blimp, but about three more Nautiluses bigger.  This thing really lived up to its name.  
  
    Prussia ran in, followed by England and a young man with chin-length blond hair and green eyes.  Canada immediately recognized Switzerland; the resemblance to his younger sister was shocking.   _Liechtenstein must be hiding in the engine room with Sealand,_  thought Canada.   _I hope they’re safe down there._  
  
    “The Airship Goliath!” England exclaimed.  “This only means the Phoenix couldn’t hold them off…”    
  
     _“Не волнуйтесь,_  everything will be fine,” said Russia, analyzing the Goliath from the window.  “And we will rescue the Phoenix… _да,_  we’ll rescue them.”  He smiled.  “I look forward to seeing my friends again…”  
  
    “Russia,” England interrupted.  “The Goliath?”  
  
    “Oh, yes.”  Russia stepped away and walked up to the five of them.  “We will, of course, put up a fight.”    
  
    “Hell yeah!” yelled Prussia.  He ran past Russia and seated himself in the giant chair in the middle of the room.   _So I was right,_  Canada thought.   _It was for the pilot._   The moment Prussia had seated himself, the entire ship lurched forward and began circling the Goliath in an incredibly sharp, evasive way, and, Canada realized with a shock, in a way that almost seemed to match Prussia’s personality.  It was like Prussia had taken control of the airship  _with his mind._  
  
     _It really is an awesome job,_  he thought.  
  
     _“Англия,_  we’ll need you at the weaponry.  It is about time the Goliath witnessed your abilities.”  England nodded and ran down the hall.  Canada thought he witnessed a wicked grin on his face.  Some of England’s alchemy, maybe?   _“Америка,_  you go with him, he’ll teach you how to work the cannons.”  America ran after England.  
  
     _“Швейцария…Канада…”_  Russia paused, trying to think.  Canada was still staring out the window at the Goliath.  As Prussia steered the ship around, Canada noticed a little docking platform, out in the open, on the side of the ship.  The distance from the ship to that platform was about 200 yards.  If they got closer…  
  
    “That’s it…” Canada mumbled.    
  
    Russia looked over at him.   _“Что?”_  
  
    “Oh!  I…I was just thinking out loud.”  
  
    “What about?”  
  
    “Well...if we could get close enough, I or America might be able to glide over to that docking platform and infiltrate the ship.”  Canada pointed.  “Y’know, with the wings we built.”  
  
    Russia stared at him for so long that Canada felt like an idiot for even speaking up.  Then he said something that surprised him.  
  
     _“Да,_  good idea.  You glide over there with someone else and find a way to shut the ship down.”  
  
    “I’ll go,” volunteered Switzerland.  “I know a bit of the Goliath’s interior design.”  
  
     _“Хорошо,”_  replied Russia.  “We’ll buy as much time for you as we can.”  
  


* * *

  
  
    “All right, Canada, can you fly this?” asked Switzerland as he strapped on his harness and attached it to Canada’s.  
  
    “This will be my eleventh time.”  
  
    “Have you ever done it in a slant like we’re about to do now?”  
  
    Canada thought back to the time when he had helped England defeat that robot.  That was a slant, but it was a really tiny one.  
  
    “No, not this steep.”  
  
    “Great.  Just great.  Well, I’m trusting you with my life, you understand me?”  
  
    "Yes, sir.”  
  
    “All right then.”  
  
    Canada finished strapping the wings on, then slowly inched towards the edge of the ship.  Prussia had given them specific instructions on when to jump: as soon as he made a sharp turn, Canada was supposed to jump off and land on the ship.  At the same time, England and America would fire a warning shot.  The Goliath would focus its attention on the Nautilus instead of the two countries that had just landed on the ship.  
  
    “Now!  The ship’s turning, do it now!” yelled Switzerland.  Canada took a deep breath—quite possibly the last one he’d ever take—and jumped.  
  
    A moment too late Canada realized he had jumped too early; the descent had quickly turned into a dive between the two airships. If Canada and Switzerland didn’t adjust the course, they would fall out of the sky.  Canada angled the glide towards the platform, but it was no use; they were falling fast.  
  
    Switzerland cursed loudly in German and grabbed something out of his pocket—it looked like a gun—and shot it at the rails above the platform.  A thick grappling hook shot out and attached itself to one of them.  Switzerland pushed another button and the grappling hook began to reel them in.  It took several tries, but Canada and Switzerland finally managed to swing onto the platform and undo the harnesses.  The two collapsed on the floor—scared out of their minds, but alive.  
  
    “You…you  _idiot_ …” gasped Switzerland.  
  
    “I’m sorry…” said Canada, rubbing his chest where the harness had hurt him.  
  
    “You owe me…big…time.”  
  
    “Yeah.”  
  
    The two quickly looked around.  “There’s a door, it must lead to the engine room,” said Switzerland, pointing.  “Let’s go.”  Canada nodded and followed Switzerland inside.  
  
    If the Nautilus was a big ship, it was nothing compared to this.  The engine room was huge.  Pipes and metal staircases were snaking around, making it virtually impossible to navigate through.  But Switzerland didn’t seem to know what hesitation was; he led Canada left and right, only pausing every so often to look for guards.  
  
    “Do you know where we’re going, Switzerland?” asked Canada.  
  
    “Yes.”  
  
    “How?”  
  
    “Don’t push it.”  
  
    “Okay.” Canada changed the subject.  “Why haven’t we heard the warning shot by now?”  
  
    “The Goliath’s engine room is soundproof.  It can only be penetrated by the captain’s speakers, and those can only be used by the captain.  If the engine room isn’t in trouble, they don’t need distractions.  It takes a lot of work to keep this thing running.”  
  
    Canada fingered with the bottle in his belt pocket—a gift from England.  He said that everyone on the ship had one, and that they were extremely important.  Canada didn’t know how a little bottle full of light blue powder could help them at all, but he took England’s word for it.  
  
    “In here.” They had come to a gigantic metal door.  “This room has the main engine in it.  We mess with the tiniest screw and the whole thing goes down.  We’ve got the Goliath’s biggest weakness at our fingertips.”  
  
    Canada nodded.  This actually seemed normal.  The biggest, most powerful airship had the biggest weakness.  Canada grabbed a metal rod from his pack and was about to start smashing, but then something clicked: the sound of a gun being loaded.  
  
    Switzerland dragged Canada behind a pipe and put his finger to his lips.  Canada pointed behind him, at the sound of the gun, and mouthed  _Who is it?_  Switzerland shook his head in warning.  With a start, Canada realized Switzerland knew who.  
  
    He had been on the Goliath before.  
  
    “Who’s there?” called out a voice.  Its owner had a German accent.  Switzerland’s grip on Canada’s arm tightened.  A shadow on the part of the wall nearest them moved.  Switzerland locked eyes with Canada and pointed at him, then pointed at the ground.   _Stay here._   Then, grabbing the small rifle from his back, he stepped out into the open.  
  
    Canada couldn’t help it—he peeked out behind the pipe.  He saw a stranger with a rifle—one much bigger than Switzerland’s.  Canada reached into his belt to grasp the stunner Russia had given him, but Switzerland stood, confident, and held his rifle up to fire.  
  
    “Hey, Austria.”  
  
    The stranger spun around and aimed the gun at Switzerland.  He was taller than Switzerland and had brown hair, glasses, indigo eyes similar to Canada’s own, and a mole on his chin.  His expression of fear turned into one of absolute shock; it was as if Switzerland had returned from the dead.  
  
     _“Switzerla—?!”_     
  
    And that was all he was able to get out before Switzerland shot him in the head.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Не волнуйтесь - Russian - Don't worry  
> да - yes  
> Англия - England  
> Америка - America  
> Швейцария…Канада... - Switzerland...Canada...  
> Что? - What?


	7. Effectionem

    “Oh my god!” yelled Canada, rushing out from behind the pipe.  “Switzerland, you didn’t—!”  
  
    “He’s unconscious. I’m not stupid,” said Switzerland indifferently as he strapped his rifle onto his back again.  “That was a plastic bullet.  They’re coated with a chemical that causes unconsciousness when it comes into contact with the skin.  England’s an alchemist, remember?”  
  
    Canada looked at Austria’s limp form.  There was a red welt on his head and the left lens of his glasses was cracked.  A few inches from his head there was a gray ball about two millimeters in diameter.  Switzerland put on a pair of gloves, picked up the bullet and dropped it in his pocket, then pulled out a seemingly identical one and put it right next to the main part of the engine.  “Can’t have Germany duplicating our weapons,” he explained.  Canada managed to nod, but he was still shaken at the fact that Switzerland seemed so apathic.  That man—Austria—recognized Switzerland.  And seemed to be pretty shocked when he did see him.    
  
    “Who was that guy?” asked Canada.  
  
    “Austria.  Goliath’s defense specialist.  Too bad I specialize in offense.”  
  
    “He knew you.”  
  
    “Yeah.”  
  
    “But it looked like he  _really_  knew y—”  
  
    “Drop it.”  
  
    “But—!”  
  
     _“Drop. It.”_  
  
    “…Okay.”  
  
    “Now, someone must have heard the shot.  We’d better get out of here.”  
  
    “Yeah.  Alright.”  
  
    But as the two turned to leave, they came face to face with a tall, dark shadow.  
  
     _“Niemand probeert mijn werk verpesten,”_  came a deep voice, and then Canada felt a black bag go over his head.  
  


* * *

  
  
    Canada was aware of being moved, but he was afraid to struggle.  His wrists and ankles were tied.  He could still move his hands, but not without drawing too much attention to himself.  He didn’t hear or feel Switzerland beside him, so he could only hope that the German had escaped.  Instead he tried to catch the snippets of conversation going on inside the ship.  
  
     _“Ó, nem, Ausztria!_  Is he alright?” came a female voice.  
  
    “He’s fine, but that little guy knocked him unconscious.  He’ll be out for at least a day,” said a man.  Canada recognized his voice—he was the man who had caught them.  He sounded surprisingly close…maybe he was carrying Canada.  And “that little guy” had to be Switzerland.  He must not have escaped after all.  
  
    “Oh?” said the woman.  “Who are these boys?”  
  
    “Soldiers from the Nautilus.  They were caught in the engine room.”  
  
    “Good thing you caught them in time!  We could have been in serious trouble.”  
  
     _“Sí,_  Netherlands is amazing,” replied another male.  
  
    “Will you pay me?” asked the deep voice, Netherlands.  
  
    “No, I don’t think I can, I’m kinda broke,” laughed the second male.  
  
    Canada smiled.  From the sound of it, they had not found the wings strapped behind Canada’s coat.  Canada still felt them there, resting against his shoulder blades.  They would have confiscated those for sure.    
  
    A door swung open and Canada was seated on a chair with his hands behind the back of it.  The black bag was removed from his head, and Canada blinked as his surroundings came into view.  
  
    He was in a room that seemed to be the Goliath’s main room.   _They don’t waste space,_  thought Canada.  This main room was a lot smaller than the Nautilus’ one.  There was a chair for the pilot, but this one had a steering wheel and a few levers and switches.   _So the Goliath has to be controlled manually instead of telepathically,_  thought Canada.   _It’s got heavy military power, but it really isn’t as advanced as the Nautilus._   To the side of Switzerland—who was in the same position as him—there was a man who was tanned and had kind green eyes and brown hair.  He looked a bit Hispanic.  On Canada’s side, Netherlands stood, his arms crossed and a striped blue and white scarf around his neck.  In the pilot’s seat there was a small, Asian young man in a black-with-gold-trim military uniform.  He had short black hair and focused brown eyes.  Standing beside him was a man that Canada immediately recognized as the captain.  His blond hair was slicked back and his eyes were ice-blue and cold, but it was different kind of cold than Russia’s.  He wore a green military coat decorated with silver gears, a belt with about three different guns on it, and black boots that were very much like Russia’s.  
  
     _“Begrüßen zu dürfen,”_  he said.  His voice was deep and arrogant.  “I am Germany, first captain of the Airship Goliath, the most powerful ship in the sky.  This is my second captain, Japan.”  The Asian man did not look away from his work, but merely said  _“Yoroshiku ne,”_  and continued to pilot the airship.  
  
    Canada was thoroughly confused. Russia had told them that he was the second captain of the Nautilus and England the first, but he seemed like the one in charge.  Was it different?  Canada shook his head.  
  
    “Now, I am very surprised to see you, Switzerland.  I, along with the rest of the crew, was under the impression that you were dead.”  
  
    Canada’s gaze shot to Switzerland, who was just listening with an impassive expression on his face.  A puzzle was beginning to form in his mind.  Switzerland knew so much about the Goliath, knew who the crew members were and what they did, and Austria and Germany were both incredibly surprised to see him.  
  
    Switzerland had been a member of the Goliath.  He had probably faked his death and joined the Nautilus with his sister.  But why?  Was he a spy?  
  
    Switzerland didn’t respond.  
  
    “All right then.  You,” he said, pointing at Canada.  “How did you get on board my ship?”  
  
    Canada didn’t answer.  
  
    “Your weaponry?  I’ve never seen anything like it.”  
  
    Canada didn’t answer.  Even if he was going to, how could he explain alchemy?  
  
    “Fine then.  How is your ship so fast?  We have the best pilot in the world.”  
  
    Canada hesitated.  Germany seemed to be getting angrier with every question Canada didn’t answer.  “Our ship is smaller than yours.”  
  
    “And that’s it?  Size?  I don’t think so.”  
  
     _“Здравствуйте, Германия.”_  
  
    Canada jumped.  “Russia?” he said out loud in spite of himself.  Then he realized that it was coming from a speaker by the pilot’s chair.  Germany strode over to it and picked it up.  
  
     _“Hallo, Russland,”_  he replied.  “To what do I owe the pleasure?”  
  
    “I understand that you have two of my crewmen in your quarters right now.  Would you be so kind as to send them over?”  
  
    Germany looked over Canada and Switzerland. “We only have one of your men.”  
  
    “Whatever do you mean?” Canada was beginning to hear pleasantness in Russia’s voice.  Just what was he up to?  
  
    “Switzerland has never been a part of the Nautilus’ crew.  He’s been acting on my orders and infiltrating your ship.”  
  
    “Hehehe, I beg to differ,  _Германия._  Nice try.   _Швейцария_  ran away from you and faked his own death.  Do you want to know why he did this?”  
  
    Germany didn’t say anything.  
  
    “Because he said you were all tyrants and couldn’t stand to live with you any longer.  We have ways of knowing whether someone is lying or not.”  
  
    Germany’s grip tightened on the speaker.  “Is this true?” he asked Switzerland.  Switzerland barely nodded in return.  
  
    “I also understand that you want to know why our ship is so fast.   _Канада,_  I know you’re there, so why don’t you go ahead and tell him?”  
  
    “Are you sure, Russia?” asked Canada, loud enough to get his voice through the speaker.  
  
    “Да, go on.”  
  
    Canada took a deep breath.  “It’s because we have a telepathically controlled ship.  You don’t.”  
  
    Germany raised his eyebrows.  “Ah.  The Nautilus is controlled by mechanics alone, not by people.   _Interessant.”_  
  
    Now it was Canada’s turn to be surprised.  “No, we have an actual pilot.  He controls the ship with his mind.  That or with some kind of tool I can’t see.”  
  
    “But that’s impossible,” Germany insisted.  “You can’t have a telepathically controlled ship unless it’s run by some kind of automaton.”  
  
    “I think I can stop the conversation here,” interrupted Russia brightly.  “Everything you are both saying is true.  Would you like to talk to our pilot, Germany?”  
  
    “I would.”  
  
     _“Хорошо, тогда,”_  answered Russia.  Canada could sense triumph in his voice.  Russia had baited Germany, and Germany had fallen for it.  There was a moment’s pause.  
  
    Then Prussia’s voice, a little static-filled but recognizable, came through the speaker.  
  
    “Hey  _Kanada, Schweiz,_  you guys still alive in there?”  
  
    The speaker tumbled out of Germany’s hands and clattered on the floor.  His eyes widened in utter astonishment and disbelief.  Everyone around him seemed to have a similar reaction—all except for Japan, who was more focused on driving the ship, but he gave a flick of his head to show he heard.    
  
    At the same time, Canada noticed a slight movement: Switzerland was relaxing his wrists, and the cords around them were being loosened.  Canada tried to do the same, but his were too tight.  
  
    After a moment, Prussia spoke again:  _“Hey!_   Are you guys all right?  Talk to me!”  
  
    “Fine, Prussia,” Canada called loudly.  “Switzerland’s here too.  We’re tied up, but we’re alive.”  
  
     _“Ja,_  that’s good.  Listen, we’re gonna get you outta there, all right?  Sit tight.  Kesesese...I guess you’re already doing that…”  Prussia’s voice faded as Russia took the speaker back.  
  
    “Was that enjoyable,  _Германия?”_  asked Russia, his voice even brighter than usual.  Germany slowly picked up the speaker and thought a moment before responding.  
  
     _“How?”_  
  
    “Oh, stupid  _Германия,_  I already told you everything you said was true.  Why don’t you listen?”  
  
    This time, both Canada’s and Germany’s mouths dropped.    
  
     _What?  How can that be?  That would only be true if…if…Prussia was…  
  
    Was Prussia even a human being?_  
  
     _“Nein, Russland.”_   Germany’s voice shook.  “That can’t be true.  The very thought of it is…it’s just…”  
  
    “Impossible?” finished Russia.   _“Да,_  a lot of things seem impossible until you actually start thinking about making them possible.  I never fail at that, I assure you.  Think of it as a favor,  _Германия._  
  
    “Now, I think we’ll collect our men and be on our way.”  Canada’s belt pocket—the one that held the bottle—began to warm up.  Within seconds Canada began to feel lightheaded.    
  
     _What the…?_  
  
    Next to him, Switzerland seemed to be fading from view.  When he was transparent, he broke free of his cords and grabbed the Hispanic man by the wrist.  In a few more seconds, both Switzerland and the other man were gone.   _“Was?!”_  yelled Germany, but then there was a bright flash of light and...  
  
    Suddenly Canada collapsed in the main room of the Nautilus, still bound to his chair.    
  
    “What…?  What on earth…”  He turned just in time to see England, who was standing with a circle of the blue powder stuff around him, fall to his knees, obviously drained of energy.  “Did…did England use his alchemy to teleport us here?” asked Canada.    
“Yeah,” said Prussia, looking around to face Canada.  “Remember that little bottle?  It’s connected to the portion he has.  He can call it back, along with anything it’s touching.”  
  
     _So that’s why Switzerland grabbed that other guy…_  Canada turned around and saw Switzerland throwing off his bindings, then walking over to Canada to help.  The Hispanic was just getting to his feet.   _“Ay caramba!”_  he exclaimed.  “Why can’t we all be  _amigos_  for once?  What’s with this hostage thing?”  “There’s a reason for everything, Spain,” answered Switzerland.  
  
     _Is there a reason why no one told me about Prussia?_   “England, could I talk to you?  Alone?”  
  
    England looked up.  He looked pretty exhausted.  If he didn’t hear the conversation between Canada and Prussia, or Switzerland and Spain, Canada didn’t blame him.  “Yes, I suppose.  Just give me a minute.”  Slowly, he got to his feet and swept his blue powder into a flask very like Canada’s.  Together, as soon as Canada was freed, the two walked down the hallways.  
  
    “England, is Prussia a country?”  
  
    “Of course.”  
  
    “But…all that stuff Russia said…”  
  
    “Oh.  That.”  England became silent for a moment.  Then he began to speak in the dialect of a storyteller.  
  
    “At the end of World War II, there was a country that was lost to the winning side.  That country was Prussia.”  
  
    Canada opened his mouth to speak, but England kept going.  
  
    “Because Prussia didn’t have a country left to represent, he did die.  But Russia—I can’t believe that man—pulled something so risky that he could have died.  I helped him do this.  We both could have been killed.  But we managed to transfer Prussia’s soul into an automaton.”  
  
    Canada’s eyes widened.  He tried to speak again, but England wasn’t done.  
  
    “This was one of Russia’s greatest creations.  The particular automaton that Prussia was now in control of could pilot the Nautilus because some of the same technology was in Prussia’s mind.  Yes,” he added as Canada raised his eyebrows.  “The Nautilus was originally Russia’s ship.  He designed it, he built it.  I bought it from him.  So I am the captain, the first one, because it’s my ship.  Russia just seems more dominant because he knows more about the attacks and how the technology in Prussia’s brain works.  Whenever there is a battle, he’s in charge.”  
  
    “But…if you’re the important one, then why did Liechtenstein say she was going to take us to meet the second captain?”  
  
    “Because I had already met you, of course.”  
  
    “Oh.”  That made sense.  “But…why was Germany so shocked?”  
  
    “He was, was he?” England nodded grimly.  “Well, no wonder.  Prussia was Germany’s older brother.  Germany was under the impression that he was dead.”  
  
     _What?!  Wow, that’s a lot to take in at once._  
  
    “The plan—my plan—is that we use Prussia to negotiate peace with the Nautilus and the Goliath.  Prussia is well aware of this, and he’s agreed to help.  He does have free will, after all.”  
  
    “…wow.”  
  
    “I know, it’s a lot to take in.  On another note, I saw that Switzerland had taken a hostage with him.  Who is it?”  
  
    “Some country named Spain.”  
  
    England’s eyes—well,  _eye_ —widened.  He looked absolutely furious.   
  
    “I will  _kill_  him.”  
  
    And England strode back into the main room without looking back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Niemand probeert mijn werk verpesten - Dutch - No one ruins my (hard) work  
> Ó, nem, Ausztria! - Hungarian - Oh no, Austria!  
> Sí - Spanish - yes  
> Begrüßen zu dürfen - German - Welcome  
> Yoroshiku ne - Japanese - Nice to meet you  
> Здравствуйте, Германия - Russian - Hello, Germany.  
> Hallo, Russland - German - Hello, Russia.  
> Швейцария - Russian - Switzerland  
> Канада - Canada  
> Interessant - German - Interesting.  
> Хорошо, тогда - Russian - Alright, then.  
> Kanada, Schweiz - German - Canada, Switzerland  
> Ja - yes  
> Nein - no  
> Да - Russian - yes  
> Was - German - what  
> Ay caramba - Spanish - oh my gosh  
> amigos - friends


	8. Devitantes

     _“SPAIN!”_  
  
    As America was walking back down to the main room from the cannons, he saw England storm into the main room, heading straight for the Hispanic country that Switzerland had brought back with him.  Upon seeing England, the country’s eyes widened and he tried to back away.  “Hey… _I...Inglaterra, mucho tiempo sin verte…ay!”_   England grabbed a handful of Spain’s shirt and shoved him against the wall, effectively cutting him off.  
  
    “We…we’re all friends here,  _verdad?”_  asked Spain.  
  
    “Friends?” England scoffed.  “Friends?  What kind of friend blinds another?  Is that how the Spaniards grow comfortable around each other?”  
  
    “That…was a long time ago,  _amigo…”_  
  
     _“Lo siento…ay!”_   England slammed him against the wall again.   _“I’m sorry!”_  
  
    “What the hell’s going on here?” asked America as he walked up to them.  
  
    “Switzerland let this bastard onto my ship!”  
  
     _“Your_  ship?” Spain looked astonished.  “I thought it was Russia’s—!”  
  
    “You thought wrong,” snarled England as he tightened his grip on Spain’s shirt.  
  
    “GUYS!” America yelled.  “Seriously, what the hell—!”  
  
     _“Англия,”_  called Russia.  “It’s time we got back to the business at hand,  _да?”_  
  
    England glanced at Russia, then out towards the Goliath, which was still hovering in the air next to them.  “Switzerland?”  The smaller country nodded, and with an angry sigh England released Spain.  “This isn’t over.”  
  
     _“Sí,_  understood.”  Again Spain smiled and shrugged, trying to make the best of it, but America could see that he was scared.  
  
     _“Some_ body’s an optimist,” America muttered.  Then he turned to Canada, who had just come back into the main room—probably from following England.  “What’s going on?”  
  
    “I don’t know,” his brother answered.  “Switzerland brought Spain back with him.  I don’t know if he knew about England’s…vendetta…against Spain; I just think he wanted to take someone hostage.”  
  
    “And Spain is probably the luckiest member of the Goliath as of now,” called Russia cheerfully as he picked up the speaker.  “I think we will take our leave now,  _Германия.”_   As soon as he spoke, Prussia steered the Nautilus toward the western horizon and sped it up.  The Goliath immediately began to pursue them.  
  
     _“Warten Sie!_   I demand to know how you’ve done this!   _I demand to know!”_  
  
    “Sorry, no telling,” laughed Russia.  He sounded an awful lot like a child who was holding a treat above a hungry dog.  “But I  _did_  leave a little present for you and the crew.”  Russia took a black remote out of his pocket and pushed the second button.    
  
    Out of the window, America saw the Goliath shudder.  A hole had appeared in the bottom of the ship and black smoke poured out of it.  The ship careened into a steep descent and plunged into the clouds below.  Russia waited until the very top of it had vanished from sight, then spoke one last time into the speaker.   _“До свидания, Германия.”_  
  
    “Where to next?” asked Prussia.  America couldn’t help but catch a little remorse in his voice when he said that.  
  
    “Wherever the Phoenix was last seen,” answered England.  “Do not feel bad,  _Пруссия.”_  added Russia.  “Your brother will not be injured.”  
  
     _What?!  Prussia’s **brother?!**_  
  
    “I know, but…” Prussia trailed off.  Russia smiled sympathetically— _I’m pretty sure he’s faking that,_  thought America—and walked off.  
  
    “Prussia has a  _brother?!”_  asked America in disbelief.    
  
    Canada smiled and put an arm around America’s shoulder.  “Come on, we have a lot to talk about.”    
  
    “I’ll say,” answered America, and the two walked to their room to catch up.  
  


* * *

  
  
    Switzerland looked down at the place where the Goliath had just vanished and felt a tiny twinge of guilt that he had planted a bomb in his former home.  Canada didn’t even know that the fake bullet he had put next to the engine was actually a device with tiny mechanisms that were programmed to explode when commanded to…through remote control.  It wasn’t a big explosion, but if it was in the engine room, then it was magnified by the number of chain reactions that followed it.  
  
    "England,” he began.  “Are we going to help the Phoenix now?”  
  
    “Yes,” he answered, “but we’re going to need to be quick.  Knowing the Goliath, the Phoenix itself could take weeks to repair, so we’re going to have to take in the crew and hire a few of the guilds to help.  But the Phoenix has always been our friend, so we’ll help it.”  
  
    “Another thing…”  Worry for his sister bubbled up inside him.  “We can’t see the outside of the ship…and the Goliath is soundproof…did it…open fire?”  
  
    England sighed.  “Yes.”  
  
    Switzerland strode towards the halls.  “Where—?”  
  
    “Near the engine systems, but it’s all right, your sister wasn’t hurt!” England’s voice rose as Switzerland took a few angry steps towards him.  
  
    “I can feel the ship’s damage,  _Schweiz,”_  interrupted Prussia.  “The major damage is nowhere  _near_  where Liechtenstein and Sealand are.  Trust me on that one.”  
  
    “Still,” continued Switzerland stubbornly, “someone needs to repair it.”  Without waiting for England’s answer, he walked down the corridors and into the pipe-work maze of the engine room.   _How could they have been so stupid, hiding in the_ most vulnerable  _part of the ship?!_  
  
    “Lili?” he called.  “Sealand?”  
  
     _“Brüder!”_  
  
    “Lili?!”  Switzerland raced towards the sound of Liechtenstein’s voice.  “Where are you?!”  
  
    “Here!” came the reply.  “Hurry!”  
  
    “What happened?!”  Switzerland turned a corner.  
  
    Sealand’s vest was tied around a pipe and Sealand was gripping it with both hands.  Liechtenstein was a little far off, but as soon as she saw Switzerland she ran headlong into his arms.  “We felt the attack—there were two shots—we’re both okay, but there’s a—”  
  
    “Leak!” interrupted Sealand.  “Gas leak!  I’ve been holding it in like this.”  He gestured to his vest.  Switzerland sighed in relief.  If this hadn’t been discovered sooner…  
  
    “Wait here,” he ordered.  Switzerland ran to the part of the cavern where he kept his mechanics tools.  Grabbing a roll of aluminum tape, he ran back to where the principalities where.  “Sealand,” he ordered, “take your hands away.”  
  
    Sealand obeyed and as soon as he was away, Switzerland wrapped it around Sealand’s vest and a few inches above and below it.  “Looks like Prussia can’t see  _everything,”_  he muttered.  “You two did very well.”  
  
    Sealand fell to his knees in relief.  Liechtenstein sat down on one of the horizontal pipes and rubbed her eyes.  It was an old habit of hers.  She did it when she was trying not to cry.  Switzerland sat down next to her and put his arms around her.  She leaned into him, and only then could he feel her shaking.  “It’s all right,” he reassured her.   _“Alles ist in Ordnung.”_   Sealand sat on Switzerland’s other side, his eyes asking an unspoken question.  Switzerland nodded, and Sealand laid his head on Switzerland’s lap.  He too was shaking.  Switzerland laid a hand on his tousled hair, trying to calm him the way he did Liechtenstein.    
  
     _I haven’t done this in so long,_  thought Switzerland.   _Am I even doing it right?_   They certainly  _seemed_  content…or were they asleep?  Sealand looked it.  
  
    Soon Switzerland leaned his head back on the wall and fell asleep too.  
  


* * *

  
  
    “Attention everyone.”  
  
    Switzerland snapped out of his stupor as England’s voice resounded through the engine room.  “We’re approaching the wreckage site of the Phoenix.  Prepare for investigation.”  
  
    “Hey, wake up,  _kleinen,”_  said Switzerland, gently shaking Liechtenstein and Sealand awake.  “We’ve got a crew to rescue.”


	9. "Interlude"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ever wonder how Prussia was made?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, this also provides a little background info. World Wars 1 and 2 were fought on the ground with giant robots called automatons. Russia and Germany were both incredibly gifted at making these.
> 
> The Great Sky War, aka World War 3, is what's happening in the main story. This little interlude takes place after World War 2, a few years before WW3 happens. England and Russia already have an alliance, now it's time to create their trump card.

    England sat in a chair, cleaning the separate parts of his gun.  It had been a year since the Second Great War had ended, and his ship had been destroyed.  He was grounded now, with nothing to fight on and nothing to fight for.  He and Russia and China may have won this time, especially with the help of their colonies, but it seemed like a loss all the same.   
  
    Germany had abandoned his automatons and started to gather a crew for an airship.  He had looked into England’s sharp green glare and promised him that he would return.    
  
    That he would avenge his brother’s death.  
  
    What pained England the most is that he and Prussia had actually been good friends before all this happened.  In fact, they built an airship together.  It was more like an air-dingy, but they managed to get it about 20 feet off the ground before it crashed and burned.  
  
    “Too long,” England whispered, and began to put the gun back together.  Now Prussia was dead; the Allies had agreed that it would be the best way to make sure Germany didn’t pull a stunt like the Great Wars again.  They weakened his empire by half.  They killed his older brother.  
  
     _Click click click_  
  
    England looked up as his message machine began to move.  It was an invention of his own.  It had started out as an old typewriter, but now instead of making documents, it gave England messages from other countries.  He looked up to see what it was spewing out this time.  
  
     _ **PRIKODITE. TEPER.**_  
  
    England raised an eyebrow.  Jibberish?  Was the thing finally faulting, after 5 years?  
  
     _No…that could be Russian._  
  
    England’s message system only printed English letters, so China and Russia couldn’t use this during the war.  But it was the fastest way to contact him, so Russia must have been pretty desperate to use this.  
  
     _The only two Russian words that match with these two are…_  
  
     **COME.  NOW.**    
  
    England didn’t trust himself to think twice.  He grabbed his coat and ran out the door.  
  


* * *

  
  
    “Ah… _Здравствуйте, Англия,_  you are here.”  Russia’s voice filtered up from the floorboards of the abandoned Allied meeting house.  
  
    “What do you need from me?” asked England, hanging up his coat and hat.  He was surprised that Germany had not yet laid waste to this warehouse to vent out his anger.  
  
    “We are so close,  _Англия,”_  called Russia again from the basement.  This time his voice had a maniacal ring to it.  England pursed his lips apprehensively.  What was Russia up to?  “Come down here and let me show you.  There will always be an upper hand.”  
  
     _Is Russia delusional?_  
  
    “The war is over, Russia,” answered England, descending into the basement.  He could see the Russian now; he was leaning over two tables.  
  
    A terrible fear gripped England—the tables seemed to have lifeless figures on them.   _Bodies._  
  
    “Have you gone mad?!” cried England, striding forward.  “What in  _hell_  are you doing?!”  
  
    “Stop,  _Англия_ , you might disrupt the process.”  
  
    “The—what?”  
  
    England finally looked down at one of the figures on the tables.  Purple military coat, black fur on the neckline and cuffs, silver gear embroidery.  Black combat boots.  White hair.  A lifeless, pale face with little clouds of breath rising from the slightly open mouth.  
  
    “Good lord…”  
  
    “This is our upper hand.”   
  
     _”Prussia?_  But…if you’re suggesting necromancy…!”  
  
    “A nation’s death is never quick,  _Англия._   When a nation dies, what happens to the human part?  Prussia is in what we would call a coma, and soon the human part of him will die.  Unless.”  
  
    England knew that Russia was just waiting for him to prompt him; Russia was that sort of man.  Normally he would have just waited anyway, but he and Russia were standing over a country that was supposed to be dead for a year.  
  
    “Unless?  Go on, Russia, I have half a mind to stop you if you don’t explain yourself  _right now.”_  
  
    “Unless we bring him back.”  
  
    “You  _are_  suggesting necromancy.  Russia, I would  _never_ —!”  
  
    “I am not.  In a way, Prussia is still alive, but his body cannot support his soul for much longer.  What I am suggesting is that we transfer his soul to a body that  _can.”_   He gestured to the other table.  A perfect copy of Prussia lay on it, but its head was open on a hinge, and inside, wires and metal sparked and vibrated.  
  
    England took a step back as he realized the gravity of the situation.  “You’re asking me to make this…automaton… _habitable for a nation’s soul?”_  
  
     _“Дa,_  that is exactly what I am asking.”   
  
    England’s immediate answer was going to be  _no,_  but something made him stop.  Russia had been hinting about making an airship that could respond to an automaton’s command.  England had always thought the idea itself was near impossible, but what Russia was proposing could actually work.  
  
    “This is for your airship, isn’t it?”  
  
     _“Дa,_  I’m glad you’ve caught on so quickly.”  
  
    “Russia,” England began, trying to make his voice as placating as possible, “the results of this could be catastrophic.  I—we—have no idea what will happen.  If this is for your  _airship,_  then…then…”  
  
    Inside, England was at war with himself.  An airship actually sounded like a really good idea, but taking this risk could mean losing his life.       
  
     _You have nowhere to go.  Why not take this chance?  
  
    Sure.  And get killed!  
  
    But Russia’s given you an opportunity you’ll never come this close to again.  An _airship, _think of it!_  
  
    “…All right, Russia, I’ll do it.”  
  
     _“Спасибо, Англия,_  I will not forget this—!”  
  
    “Under one condition.”  
  
    Russia sighed, and England could feel the disappointment rolling off him like waves.   _“Отлично._   What is it?”  
  
    “I’m the captain.”  
  
    Russia’s eyes nearly popped out of his head.   _“Англия—!”_  
  
    “Whatever you’re planning on doing, I’m going to keep an eye on it.  If  _this_  how far you’re willing to go, Russia, then I’m not letting you out of my sight, understand me?  I’m captain—I’ll pay any price you want for it—and you’ll be second.”  
  
     _“Англия_ …Prussia’s new mind will contain mechanics that only I can understand.”  
  
    “I’ll learn them in time.  And knowing you, this is probably for some new war against Germany.”  Russia’s eyebrows shot up in alarm.  That was all the information England needed.  “So, whenever there’s a battle, you’re in charge.  Of the entire ship and the crew.”  
  
    Russia nodded slowly, still deep in thought.  “And one more thing, Russia.”  
  
     _“Дa,_  what is it?”  
  
    “Prussia still retains his free will.”  
  
    Russia shrugged.  “Done.”  
  
     _“All_  of my terms?”  
  
    “All of them.”  
  
    “All right.”  They shook hands.  “Now, let’s get ready.”  
  


* * *

  
  
    “Do you trust me, Russia?”  
  
    “In this case, it would be with my life,  _дa?”_  
  
    England sighed.  “No pressure.”  
  
    Together, they laid Prussia’s body next to his mechanical one.  Then England took out a flask filled with dark purple solution and sprinkled it in a perfect circle around the two countries and himself.  “Nothing leaves the circle until I’m done,” he warned.  Russia nodded.    
  
    “What do you want me to do?”  
  
    “For now…you’re here for my support.  If I become unconscious, or…you know…you’d have to take over.”  Russia nodded again, but this time England could sense some fear emanating from him.  England took a deep breath and murmured a few words under his breath.  The entire room seemed to dim a little.  
  
    “Here we go.”  England placed his hands on Prussia’s temples, steeled himself, and reached into Prussia’s mind.    
  
    It was not as bad as he had expected—that must have been because of Prussia’s coma—but it was bad nonetheless.  A torrent of emotions bore down on him without mercy.  Anger, despair, loss, hatred, loneliness…but most of all, fear.  Fear of disappearing, fear of what was happening to him, fear he might not be able to say goodbye to his brother before he faded away.  Sweat broke out across England’s forehead, but he gritted his teeth and dug deeper.  A few seconds later, he located Prussia’s soul: a ball pulsing with life, weighed down by heavy emotions, but physically light as a feather.  With a small grunt, England snapped the bond between the nation’s body and soul and, picking it up, gently pushed it into the mind of the automaton.  He felt the soul adjust immediately and, a few seconds later, the automaton began to spark and come alive.  
  
     _“Молодцы, Англия,”_  whispered Russia.  England let out a sigh of relief—and collapsed onto the floor.   _“Эй!  О нет…”_   England could feel Russia shaking him, but he could barely lift a finger.  Whatever he had done drained him completely.  His consciousness gave out and everything faded into gray.  
  
    “Please try to understand,  _Пруссия.”_   Russia’s voice filtered through England’s mind as he forced his eyes open.  Everything was hazy, as if he’d spent all night at a tavern.  
  
    “Russia…”  
  
    “Oh,  _хорошо,_  you are okay,” said Russia, helping him to sit up.  “When you collapsed, the circle faded, so I thought it was okay to move outside of it.  There is no danger,  _верно?”_   England nodded, rubbing his head.  He was on one of the tables that Russia had used to hold Prussia’s real body, which seemed to have vanished.  The automaton—Prussia—was now leaning against a wall, one eyebrow raised.  He looked pretty angry.  
  
    “So what you’re saying is,” Prussia began, “I’m in this new metal body, you and England over there saved my life—right after you tried to  _kill_  me, I might add—and now you want me to be the pilot of your little airship?   _Russland,_  have you gone completely  _verrückt?”_  
  
    “Do you want another war, Prussia?” asked England.  
  
    Prussia seemed a little taken aback at the statement.  “Wha…?”  
  
    “As we speak, Germany is finding a crew and building an airship that—he claims—can dominate the sky.  He’s going to start another war, and we’re going to need your help with this.  If you fight for our side, Prussia, Germany might snap out of it.  He might not fight his older brother.  Understand me?”  
  
    Prussia’s expression changed from sarcastic to shocked to thoughtful.  “Is this your plan,  _Russland?”_  
  
    “It’s mine,” England answered.  
  
    “That’s good,” replied Prussia.  “I trust you, but I don’t trust Mr. Communism over there.”  
  
    Russia’s passive smile immediately changed into an angry frown.  “Russia’s given up on his communist ways since the war ended,” said England quickly.  He didn’t want Russia to destroy all the effort England had just contributed.  
  
    “Okay…”  Prussia looked around.  “So where’s the awesome airship that the awesome me gets to fly?”  
  
    England and Russia shared a smile.  “It’s called the Nautilus.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Здравствуйте, Англия - Russian - Hello, England  
> Дa - yes  
> Спасибо - thank you  
> Отлично - fine  
> Молодцы - well done  
> Эй! О нет... - Hey! Oh no...  
> Пруссия - Prussia  
> хорошо - good  
> верно? - right?  
> Russland - German - Russia  
> verrückt - insane


	10. Eversus

**America and Prussia**  
  
“I don’t suppose you have any weapons in that mechanical body of yours?” asked America as the two climbed in through a hole in the devastated ship.  
  
“Nah, this awesomeness doesn’t need any weapons,” Prussia answered.    
  
“Okay.  I’ve got a gun, we could use that if we run into an enemy.”  
  
Prussia looked back at America strangely.  “Have you ever been on a warship,  _Amerika?”_  
  
“Well, no, but—”  
  
“Okay.  Usually when a warship leaves another like  _this,_  they aren’t going to guard it, they’re going to leave it for dead.”  
  
“What if other allies came to fix the ship—?”  
  
“Then it would slow them down, wouldn’t it?”  
  
“…Oh.  That’s smart.  For them, anyways.”  
  
_“Ja._   I know this stuff ‘cuz I’m awesome.”  
  
“When will you let up on this ‘awesome’ talk?”  
  
“Whenever I stop being awesome…which is never!   _Kesesesesese…”_  
  
“Whatever,” answered America, a bit exasperated.  “Let’s go rescue some crewmen.”  
  
The hallways were dark and dank and Prussia and America’s footsteps echoed loudly in the corridors.    
  
“Ghost ship,” remarked America.  Prussia nodded.   _“Ja,_  it’ll be harder than you think to find six people here.  Let’s try the main room.”  
  


* * *

  
**England and Canada**  
  
“Wow, this looks like it hasn’t been used for ages,” Canada remarked as the two walked down the halls towards what were supposed to be the sleeping quarters.  
  
“Yes, the Goliath tends to do much more damage than necessary,” answered England.  “It is…well…quite massive.”  
  
“Hence the name,” agreed Canada.    
  
“But…Germany is strategic.  I wouldn’t be surprised to find an ambush here.”  
  
“Really?” asked Canada, a bit apprehensive.  
  
“I think so…oh  _no…”_   England trailed off.  They had come to a part of the ship where rubble and pipes were blocking the way.  Canada fumbled in his bag for a lantern, but right as he was getting it out, he heard England mutter something under his breath.  Canada turned around to see about eight shining yellow orbs floating around England, providing more light than they needed.    
  
Canada put the lantern down with a slightly annoyed expression.  “What happened to ‘we’ll need lanterns’?”  
  
“This slipped my mind.  It’s much easier, though.”  
  
“That’s all nice, but how are we going to move this rubble?”  
  
“Oh, of course, how silly of me.  Canada, move to the side a little.”  
  
Canada did so obediently, suddenly eager to see what England was about to do.  “More alchemy?”  
  
“Yes.”  England held out his hands, like he was going to push something forward.  In each hand he held a piece of pipe and a piece of rock.  After murmuring what sounded like a mixture of Latin, Greek, and Old English, he threw his hands to either side, letting the pieces fly towards either wall.    
  
With an almighty crash, the pile of rocks and ship parts split down the middle, numerous parts flying towards opposite walls.  Soon there was a pathway big enough for the two to walk through.  
  
“That,” breathed Canada, “was  _amazing.”_  
  
“Simple, compared to the other things I can do,” answered England, who was a bit red in the face, but looked extremely pleased with himself.  “Now then,” he added, gesturing to the path.  “Shall we go?”  
  


* * *

  
**Switzerland and Liechtenstein**  
  
“I really hope we find some of the crewmen, big brother.”  
  
“Yeah.”  
  
The two walked down the empty corridors, Switzerland pushing various pieces of debris out of their path as they did.  They were in the part of the ship that was supposed to be the boiler room.  It was a good hiding place, but Switzerland doubted that anyone would use it.  Rubble and debris was  _everywhere,_  literally rendering the place inhabitable.    
  
“No one’s here,” announced Switzerland. “Let’s check somewhere else.”  
  
“But… _brüder,_  what if there  _is_  someone in here?  And they’re just unable to get out?”    
  
Switzerland sighed.  “All right, one sweep of the room.  Then we leave.”  
  
“Okay.”  
  
They split up to explore opposite areas of the room, Switzerland with the most rubble.  As expected, he found nothing.  He took a deep breath and was about to head back…then he heard Liechtenstein scream.  
  
_“LILI!”_  he yelled, running over to her with his gun aloft.  Why hadn’t he checked for Goliath soldiers?   _Stupid, **stupid!**_  
  
“No,  _brüder,_  it’s all right!  It’s okay, look!  I found people!”  
  
Sighing in tremendous relief, Switzerland put away his gun and started removing rubble from where she had pointed.  “Don’t scare me like that again!” he scolded her.  
  
_“Entschuldigung, brüder._   I just heard cries for help, and it startled me, mostly because I couldn’t understand what they were saying.  It came from this pile, and I think one of them might be a little girl…”  
  
“What? As far as I know, the only girls on the Phoenix are…” Switzerland trailed off as he cleared the rubble.  Two figures were huddled together beneath the debris, both of them were bruised and cut in various places.  One was a girl with dark skin, long brown hair in pigtails, and a long-sleeve dark blue working dress, complete with what looked like climbing boots.  The other was a man with blond hair in a ponytail, white skin, and worried blue eyes.  He was wearing a white shirt with ruffled sleeves, a black vest over that, and brown pants with matching black boots.    
  
The side of his mouth quirked into a half-hearted grin.   _“Il était temps.”_  
  
“Wait a sec,” whispered Switzerland.   _“France?”_  
  


* * *

  
**Prussia and America**  
  
“Jeez, who would even be in the main room of a ship when it goes down?” asked America.  “The captain would flee to a safer place, wouldn’t he?”  
  
“But would the pilot do that?” replied Prussia, grinning.  “The captain gets to be an idiot once in a while, but not the pilot!  He’d be in the cockpit the entire time, trying to lessen the crash.  Any pilot who doesn’t is a coward and un-awesome!”  
  
“Alright, sorry.”  
  
“’S-okay.  You haven’t been on an airship before, so I can understand if you don’t know a few things.  I’m not like that commie Russia.”  
  
America stopped just outside the doors of the main room, which were slightly dented outwards.  Prussia walked on a bit more, then stopped too.  “Hey.  You alright?”  
  
“You called Russia a commie.”  
  
Prussia grinned.  “Is that what you’re worried about?”  
  
“He threatened to throw me off the ship if I said that.”  
  
Prussia laughed.   _“Really?_   The nerve!  Well, do you  _see_  him anywhere?”  
  
America laughed.  “Nope.”  
  
“Then keep this between us, America.  We really shouldn’t, since the war is over, but it’s fun to break the rules,  _kesesesesese….”_  
  
America decided he liked this man.  They both were a bit rebellious and loved to poke fun at people, especially stuck-ups like Russia.  
  
“So whaddaya say about getting this door open?” Prussia asked.    
  
America nodded.  Together, they managed to wrench one of the doorways partially open, which was enough for them to slip inside.  “Oh geez…” breathed America.  “What a war zone.”  
  
The main room looked like it could have been beautiful if not for all the wreckage.  The walls were painted with golden orange birds and abstract, curvy shapes.  America believed that they could have shimmered, but the walls were thick with dust.    
  
That couldn’t begin to compare with the horror of the rest of the room.  The glass windows were completely shattered and bits of spare cloth rolled around in the gusts of wind that entered from them.  Gigantic boulders made of black metal lay randomly amoung the ruined gear-work and other rubble.  And right by the pilot’s chair, some sort of dark, dry substance was wiped across the ground.  It looked an awful lot like blood.  
  
Someone was saying something.  It sounded muffled—probably because there was a lot of debris—but it sounded like reassurance.  
  
America and Prussia followed the trail of blood to the far end of the room, where two figures were.  One wore a sort of pinkish-brown three-piece outfit lined with little magenta bows on the shoes and one at his neck.  His sleeves were rolled up to just past his elbows, and his black gloves were soaked with blood.  His dandelion blond hair fell to right past his chin, and it hid his face as he pressed a brown hat adorned with a red feather to his comrade’s abdomen.  He was the one who was speaking.  
  
“Listen to me, don’t fade out yet,” he said urgently to his companion, who looked much worse.  He was wearing a white shirt with brass buttons and a brown ribbon tied around his neck, brown pants, and black combat boots.  A set of goggles rested in his matted brown hair, which, like the other man, also came down to his jawline.  His eyes were closed and the bottom left side of his shirt was soaked with blood.  His skin was death white.  “Everything’s gonna be all right, you hear me?  Help’s on the way…help’s totally on the way.”  
  
“Well, well, well,” Prussia mused.   _“Here’s_  a captain that is definitely not an idiot.”  
  
The blond one looked up at the two men standing over him and immediately got to his feet.  “You freaking screw-offs!  Why didn’t you get here sooner, dangit?!”  
  
“Whoa, Poland,” replied Prussia automatically.  “Take it easy.”  
  
“I will NOT take it easy!  Liet’s about to die, and I was running out of strength myself!  For all I knew, you could have abandoned us!  I don’t even know the whereabouts of my own crew—!”  
  
“Hold it,” America interrupted.  “You don’t need to worry about that.  We’ve got nations searching all over the ship for the remainders of your crewmen.  We won’t rest under we’ve found all of them and done what we can.”  
  
“Seriously?” asked Poland.  He was staring at America with something like disbelief.  “Russia’s crewmen…want to help me?”  
  
“Why else do you think we’re here?  Russia actually cares about countries,” answered Prussia before America could.  “Is that hard to believe?”  
  
“Well,  _duh,”_  answered Poland.  “This entire ship consists of what used to be the freaking Soviet Union.”  
  
“Okay,” America answered.  “Lemme remind you that England’s the actual captain of the Nautilus, not Russia.”  
  
Finally the wild look in Poland’s green eyes died a bit.  “Okay,” he said.  “Okay.  Don’t worry about me for now.  Save Liet.  Tell me your plan.  Then we can go from there.”  
  
“America, do you think you can find England?” asked Prussia.  
  
“Yeah…he and Canada went to check the sleeping quarters, right?”  
  
“Get Lithuania there.  England knows how to heal, he could at least stop the blood flow.”  
  
“Right.”  Being as gentle as he could, America picked up the unconscious nation and walked into the hallway in search of England and his brother.    
  
Prussia picked up a broken speaker.  “This is for the captain,  _ja?”_  
  
Poland nodded.  Prussia spoke into it.  “England, if this is working—no, if you can hear this—stay in the sleeping quarters.  We found Poland, he’s alive.  It’s Lithuania we’re worried about; he’s pretty messed up.  America’s bringing him to you, so prepare some healing mumbo-jumbo or whatever.  We need the second captain alive.  Now,” he added, turning to Poland.  “What do you need to talk about?”  
  


* * *

  
**England and Canada**  
  
“Hello? Anyone home?” called Canada softly as he opened the door to one of the bedrooms.  No one there.  “England, I don’t think there’s anyone here.  This is one of the least likely places to hide when under attack.”  
  
“But, if I remember the first captain well, he’d order everyone to their rooms until further notice  _because_  it’s the least likely place to hide.  No warship would aim for the bedrooms, would they?  It’s not very tactical, in my opinion.”  
  
“Oh.”  
  
They had gotten to the last door.  England’s floating orbs shook slightly, as if they knew something wasn’t right.  Canada looked over and saw that England had taken out his twin pistols.  “England?  What’s…?”  
  
“Draw your weapon, Canada.  I don’t think we’re alone after all.”  
  
Swallowing the sudden burst of fear he felt, he drew a small switchblade and faced the door.  “So what do we do?” he whispered.    
  
England peered at the final door.  “There are a few people in there.  They know we’re here…two have weapons drawn.”   _Holding hostages?_  Canada thought fearfully.    
  
England held his guns up—Canada could hear them buzz excitedly—and planted one boot against the door and kicked it open with a force that knocked one of the hinges off.  Canada jumped in just as England fired two warning shots into the darkened bedroom, filling it momentarily with a surreal, electric green light.  It was in that light that Canada saw a sharp, three-pointed object come right at his face.  
  
_“Н-не підходь!”  
  
“Не чапайце маю сястру!"_  
  
Canada felt England grip him by the collar and pull him back while firing one more time.  Then England’s orbs flew into the room and brightened it so that they could see what was going on.    
  
Two boys were huddled up in the corner of the room, both of them looking straight at England in terror.  Canada couldn’t blame them; England did look a bit terrifying with his bad eye behind a monocle and his pistols leaving trails of smoke around him.  One had tousled straw-colored hair peeking out from his black hat—one that looked very much like Sealand’s—and bright blue eyes.  He wore a white long-sleeve shirt under a golden brown vest embroidered with a gold bird symbol near the left abdomen.  He wore tan pants and black boots.  The other was wearing the exact same thing, except his vest and pants were gray and black.  He had no hat on to hide his strawberry blond bowl-cut hair, and his blue eyes—fearful, but full of intelligence—met England’s behind shiny, clear spectacles.  
  
The other two were girls.  One had silvery-blond short hair and defiant blue eyes.  She was dressed a white shirt with puffed sleeves and ruffles at the wrists.  She wore a gray knee-length skirt that came up to her stomach.  She wore black lace-up boots to match and held a giant pitchfork in both hands.  Canada realized that she could have poked his eyes out and then some with that thing.    
  
The other girl was taller, but far more terrifying.  She also had silvery-blond hair, but it came down to her waist and a black, lace bow rested in it.  She wore a shirt like the other girl, but it was stormy gray and she wore a vest-like black corset over it.  Her swishy, black, ankle-length skirt waved as she moved.  It was adorned with silver roses.  Her corset also had silver trim, and she wore black satin gloves.  Her dark, indigo eyes glittered dangerously and she held a knife in one hand.  The other knife had been shot out of her hand by England and was now smoking on the floor.  
  
Immediately England put away his guns.  “I apologize for the misunderstanding, ladies.  I assure you we mean no harm.  We’re just here to help.”  The shorter girl slowly laid the pitchfork down.   _“Ти…тебе…Англія?_   From the Nautilus?”  
  
England nodded.  “Yes, that’s correct.  This is my shipman, Ca—”  
  
“Where is my older brother?” interrupted the taller one.  “Is he with you?”  
  
“No,” answered England, “he’s back on the ship—”  
  
“Where’s the ship?”  
  
“Calm down, Belarus.”  
  
_“Bялікі брат_  has come to save me!  I  _have_  to see him!”  Belarus’ eyes grew dangerously bright.  
  
Canada was surprised when England didn’t back down.  “We have to help everyone else first.  Make sure they’re all right.  Why don’t you and Ukraine—” Here he gestured to the other girl, “—check to see if anyone else is all right?”  
  
_“Він має точку, сестра.”_  said Ukraine.  “We should check if  _Польща_  and the others are all right.  I heard static on the speaker, like he was trying to alert us.”  
  
For a moment, it looked like Belarus was going to contradict her, but then she gave a brisk nod and turned to the boys.   _“Эстонія, Латвія.  Прыходзьце.”_   Then she walked out with the two boys at her heels.  
  
“England!” called a more familiar voice.  “Are you here?”  
  
“America?” called Canada, rushing out.  America walked towards them, carrying an unconscious brown-haired young man in his arms.  Belarus and the others had stopped, wondering what they should do.    
  
“Keep looking,” ordered England.  The four nodded and disappeared.  
  
“Prussia said you could help—this guy, Lithuania—he’s hurt bad,” breathed America.  “Poland was trying to stop the blood-flow, but he wasn’t helping all that much.”  
  
“Lay him down,” instructed England, already pulling out a piece of chalk and a packet of white powder.  Around Lithuania’s body, England drew a perfect circle and stepped into it.  “You two stay back,” he ordered.  “You might disrupt the process.”  
  
England took off his gloves and gently unbuttoned Lithuania’s shirt.  The wound was in his lower abdomen, and it was still bleeding profusely.    
  
“Looks deep,” whispered Canada.    
  
America nodded.   _“Is_  deep.”  
  
England poured the powder directly on top of the wound, put his hands over Lithuania’s body and started to chant.  The circle lit up, as did the white powder.  For a while, nothing else happened.  England’s brow furrowed and he started to chant faster.  The powder slowly began to change color from white, to pink, to red, to maroon.  Lithuania’s back arched, and his hands clenched into fists.  Canada held his breath.  Finally the powder faded into a crumbly black color and evaporated on the spot.  Lithuania immediately relaxed and began to breathe evenly.  There was only a vivid red scar where the gaping wound had been.    
  
“Wow,” America said.  “That was amazing.”  
  
“Exactly what I said,” added Canada.  
  
“Get Lithuania back to the ship,” ordered England a bit breathlessly.  “It’s not completely healed…he’ll still need time to recover…”  England grabbed a nearby bedpost and pushed himself to his feet.  “Before you get any ideas, I’m completely fine…just…need to rest a bit…”  
  
“Are you sure you’ll be alright…?” started America, but Canada stopped him.    
  
“He’ll be fine, America, let’s move.”  
  
“Okay.”  The two walked after the other crew members.  
  
\-    -    -  
  
England winced as he collapsed onto the bed.  That had been a very fatal wound.  If not for whatever had been keeping him alive up until that point, he would very much have fallen into a coma—just like Prussia—and died sometime after, depending on how high the spirits of his citizens were.  Prussia was all too lucky that his citizens still believed that he existed, even after the hell he went through.    
  
England fingered his monocle absently.  Alchemists—particularly advanced ones like him—had to be the picture of health, since alchemy was a particularly draining gift to have.  Even though his gifts were by far the best, his bad eye kept him from having as much strength as the other alchemists who roamed the earth.  
  
England shook his head and got to his feet.  Now that the other crewmen had been found, they were probably making their way back to the Nautilus.  “Right then,” he said.  “Got to see what they’re up to.  Now I think I know why Russia didn’t want to come with us and investigate…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations:
> 
> German:  
> Amerika - America  
> Ja - yes  
> Brüder - brother  
> Entschuldigung, brüder. - Sorry, brother.
> 
> French:  
> Il était temps. - It's about time.
> 
> Ukrainian:  
> Н-не підходь! - S-stay back!  
> Ти…тебе…Англія? - Are...you...England?  
> Він має точку, сестра. - He has a point, sister.  
> Польща - Poland
> 
> Belarusian:  
> Не чапайце маю сястру! - Don't touch my sister!  
> Bялікі брат - big/older brother  
> Эстонія, Латвія. Прыходзьце. - Estonia, Latvia. Come.


	11. Spera

    The crew of the Phoenix crew was a bit surprised by the Nautilus.  
  
    Poland, who had formally introduced himself as the captain—once Lithuania had been safely tended to—complained that there wasn’t that much art to it.  Estonia thought it interesting, especially when he met Prussia.  An instant friendship bloomed between Sealand and Latvia, and Ukraine and Liechtenstein seemed to get along quite well.  But when the crew had boarded the ship, Russia was nowhere to be found.  
  
    “I wonder why that is?” mused America out loud.  “Russia seemed so eager to rescue these people, now he doesn’t even want to see them?”  
  
    “Well, Russia’s crazy scared of Belarus, and I don’t blame him,” answered Poland.  “Belarus can be pretty scary when something comes between her and Russia—especially if it’s a door.”  
  
    “A door?” America scratched his head, confused.  “Isn’t he her older brother or something?”  
  
    "Yeah,” answered Poland seriously, “but I seriously wish that he was anything but.  Then their relationship would be less creepy.”  
  
    “What do you mean ‘less creepy?’”  
  
    Just then, Belarus walked up to Poland.  “Where is my big brother?” she demanded.  
  
    “Well, speak of the devil,” muttered Poland.  “He’s probably in the captain’s quarters.”  
  
    “Where are those?”  
  
    “Belarus, do I look like I live here?  Ask someone else.”  
  
    “You, then.”  Belarus turned to America.  “Where are the captain’s quarters?”  
  
    Though she was pretty, she was plenty intimidating.  “Um,” America started, “I think they’re on the second level at the end of the hall—”  But Belarus was already gone.  America relaxed.  “She didn’t even say anything threatening to me…”  
  
    “Yeah, she’s got that kind of aura,” answered Poland.  “But the fact that she's the weapons specialist makes it worse."  
  
    “Eugh,” replied America.  “That’s terrible.”  
  
    “Yeah, I guess,” answered Poland, “but it’s totally hilarious when you see Russia scared.”  
  
    “Should I go up and listen in?”  
  
    “Sure, why not?  Give me a detailed description, too.”  
  
    America turned and walked up the stairs to the captain’s quarters.  He didn’t really know why he was doing this, but he did know one thing: if there was someone in the world that scared Russia, America had to keep that someone close by.  
  
    “Hey, big brother…where are you, big brother?”  
  
    America stopped cold, the hairs on his arms rising.  He barely recognized Belarus’ voice—it sounded more demonic, like a harsh wind sweeping through the halls.  He quickly pressed himself to the wall, hoping that she didn’t come his way.  He dared a peek around the corner.  Belarus was knocking on one of the doors, the one labelled  _Иван Брагинский._  
  
    “Open up, big brother.  Where were you when the rest of the crew welcomed us to the ship?”  
  
    There was no answer.  
  
    “Big brother, there is no need to be silent.  I know you are in there.   _Come out.”_  
  
    Still no answer.  
  
    That was when America heard one of the most terrifying sounds in his life.  It was a sound like metal on metal, but a lot more like something was cracking, falling apart.  Shuddering, America looked again and saw that Belarus was actually scratching at the door.  “Come out, big brother, come out!”  
  
    “Go away!”   
  
    America’s eyes widened.  It was kind of muffled, but America could tell that Russia sounded terrified.  Big, mean, second-captain Russia sounded  _terrified._  
  
     _Oh my god,_  he thought, chilled to the bone.   _What is with this woman?  I can’t tell if she wants to kill him or not…_  
  
    Suddenly, there was another strange noise, and America peeked around to see Belarus holding the doorknob with both hands like she had just pulled it off.  She smiled triumphantly and threw the knob aside.  “Now…big brother, let us become one in marriage and in death!”    
  
    Russia screamed.   _“HET!  STAY AWAY!”_     
  
    America stepped out from behind his hiding place and called out in a voice that he hoped sounded normal. “Hey, Russia?  Switzerland needs to ask you something about the  _Phoenix’s_  repairs.”  
  
    Belarus immediately turned her indigo glare on him.  “Are you trying to stand between me and my brother?!”  
  
    Every instinct America had screamed for him to run, but he stood his ground.  There was no way he was going to be scared of Belarus, even if she was strong enough to break a doorknob.  
  
    “Not…really.  I understand that you miss your brother, yeah, and that you’re probably scared because your ship just crashed and burned…”  
  
    “I was not afraid,” snapped Belarus.  
  
    “Okay, pardon me for my mistake,” retorted America.  “I just need to bring Russia a message from Switzerland.”  
  
    “Fine,” answered Belarus, standing aside.  “Deliver your message, then leave.”  
  
    “Y’see, it’s not that simple,” replied America, hoping that this woman couldn’t smell fear.  “Switzerland’s actually examining the broken parts right now and he needs help identifying them.”  
  
    Russia took that moment to walk out of the room he was in, straightening his scarf.   _“Да,_  I will come.   _Швейцария_  obviously needs my help in the matter.”  
  
    America flinched inwardly.  Next on his list of to-do things was apologizing to Switzerland for saying he wasn’t good at his job.   
  
    Belarus didn’t move, but glared at them as they walked down the hall and out of sight.  As soon as they turned a corner, Russia grabbed America by the collar and pushed him against the wall.  “You did not hear or see anything,” he whispered fiercely.  
  
    “What are you talking about?” America kept his voice smooth and confident.  No way was he sounding like a coward in front of Russia again.  
  
    Russia nodded and let him go.  But America had a feeling that Russia would respect him a little more now.  When they got downstairs to the main room, Poland opened his mouth, probably to ask what had happened, but one look from America silenced him.  
  
    Just then, England walked back into the room with the girl Liechtenstein and Switzerland had found in the boiler room.  She looked around cheerfully and waved to America and Russia as they approached.  
  
    “This is Seychelles,” explained England.  “She’s the apprentice of France, a blacksmith who was travelling on the Phoenix because he made weapons for them.  We’ll be dropping them off at our next destination.  I dislike having a frog on my ship,” he added under his breath.  
  
    “Where are we going?” asked America.    
  
    “We’re headed to Scandinavia,” answered England.  “If there’s anyone who knows how to repair an airship, it’s the Nordics."  
  
    Russia grinned creepily.  “I’ll get to see  _Финляндия_  again…”  
  
    “With a great amount of luck, we  _might_  run into them,” replied England.  “The Wyvern isn’t an easy ship to catch.  It’s usually surrounded in ice storm clouds—that’s what it draws its power from.”  
  
    “Whoa,” breathed America.  “It runs on alchemy?”  
  
    “What Norway uses can barely be called alchemy,” said England.  “His alchemy reaches an almost elemental level.  He specializes in temperature and water; many call him the Ice King.”  
  
    “Can you do anything like that, England?” asked America.    
  
    England raised his chin.  “I could if I wanted to, but my areas of expertise are set elsewhere.  Why would someone want to control the weather if they could do what I can?”  
  
    “Which is?” prodded America.  
  
    England smiled coldly.  “That’s a secret.”  
  
    America looked at Russia, but the second captain remained stoic and silent.  “Okay, sorry for asking,” America said.  “Where’s my brother?”  
  
    “In his room,” answered England.  “You’d better get over there and tell him where we’re going.”  
  
    “Sure.”  
  
    As America headed over to Canada's room, he couldn't help but feel giddy at the thought of another airship.   _One that runs on storm clouds, too!  I can hardly wait!_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Иван Брагинский - Russian - Ivan Braginski  
> HET - NO  
> Швейцария - Switzerland  
> Финляндия - Finland


	12. Glaciem et Procellam

 Prussia sat in his special pilot chair, looking out over the wide, vast sky.  He practically owned that sky.  One day, after this war was all over, he and his brother would get their own airship—one that was awesome enough for the both of them—and embrace the godlike freedom that came with seeing a sky like this one every single day.  That was his destiny, and he had to claim it.  
  
Canada stood behind him in the main room with Sealand, staring out the window at the lands that were whipping by below.  "Where are we, Arthur?" asked Sealand.  
  
"Somewhere over Denmark," answered England, who was standing beside Prussia.  The winds were beginning to act up and Prussia was having a bit of a hard time keeping the ship in a straight line.  "It might be a good time to switch to defensive mode ahead of time," he added to Prussia.  
  
"Where's Denmark?" asked Sealand.  
  
"Ask Canada.  I'm  _busy,_  Peter, can't you see that?" snapped England.  
  
Seemingly unaffected, Sealand turned to Canada instead.  "Where's Denmark?"  
  
"It's in Northern Europe," answered Canada.  "We're in that area now."  
  
"Oh," replied Sealand, and stared at the big wall of glass that was their window.  "Hey, d'you think we'll find the Nordics here?"  
  
"Probably," said Canada.  "Why?"  
  
"Poland told me they were hard to find," Peter said matter-of-factly.  
  
"Well, Poland doesn't know everything," said Canada.    
  
 _He knows a lot about gossip and art, though,_  thought Prussia with a smirk.   _He and France couldn't stop talking after they got settled on the Nautilus…_  
  
"Whoa," muttered Prussia as a massive group of gray storm clouds blocked his vision.  Flashes of lightning could be seen just beyond them, and the air hummed with the sound of barely leashed thunder.  The ship responded to his wariness and slowed almost to a complete stop.  "Hey, England?" he asked.  "Are we going to have to go through that wall of death?"  
  
England focused on the cloud for about a minute before he reached into a pouch on his belt and pulled out a bottle of ice blue ash-like powder.  He walked up to the glass window and drew a gigantic circle and a seven-pointed star inside it, muttering an incantation every time a point of the star touched the circle.  It glowed white for a few seconds, then faded to an electric blue color.  "Yes," he answered, "just look through that, and you should be able to see."  
  
Prussia took a deep breath.   _"Vater Fritz, führen meine Hand..."_   Slowly, he urged the ship forward.    
  
The Nautilus passed through the clouds with no problem, but after ten seconds, lightning flashed right behind them, and Prussia switched the ship to defensive mode and began to weave through the clouds, swerving every time he saw light behind the clouds.  The crew—and passengers—were thrown about violently, and Switzerland, Estonia, Poland, and Russia came in to see what was happening.  
  
"What's happening?" asked Estonia, watching the lightning storm with something like interest.  "Is this Norway's doing?"  
  
"Is it indeed?" echoed England silently.  His green eyes searched the storm, not even faltering or refocusing when Prussia swerved.  After a few minutes of silence, England closed his eyes.  _"Æðelings sylfum Sæmann, ácýðan stendeaþ…"_  
  
After a begrudged  _"Я взять на себя,"_  Russia walked over to Prussia's chair and stood behind it, staring through England's alchemic circle at the clouds and lightning beyond. Prussia felt a chill on his back as the second captain stood behind him.  England's chanting was only making it worse…or was it some other presence?  
  
"It's cold," said Poland, hugging himself.  "I thought the ship had ways of heating itself?"  
  
"This isn't the Nautilus' doing," noted Estonia.  "It appears that we're getting closer to the natural aura of the Wyvern."  
  
 _"Gott Sei Dank,"_  answered Prussia.  Though his body was artificial, even he was beginning to feel the temperature drop as more of an ice spell than a breeze.  
  
"Norway knows we're here," England said softly.  "He thinks we're trying to attack…"  Suddenly lightning struck a cloud a few meters away.  Prussia's heart skipped a beat as he saw something different: the cloud that it struck was a light, icy blue.  "There," England ordered.  "Don't let them get away!"  
  
"About time," Switzerland muttered.  "Can't you send some mental white flag, England?"  
  
"I'm  _trying,"_  England snapped as Prussia urged the Nautilus into a higher speed, determined not to let the elusive Scandinavians out of his sight.    
  
As they got closer, however, the blue cloud seemed to stay right where it was.  It evaporated as soon as they were close enough to see it clearly.  "A ruse," snarled Russia.  "They are clever, too clever… _О, Киев…"_  Whatever Russia was going to say next died on his lips as the Wyvern slid out of the clouds and into view beside them.  
  
It was not bronze like the Nautilus, copper like the Phoenix, or black like the Goliath.  The Wyvern was a rather peculiar shade of silver and shaped more like the pointed end of a spear than the blimp-shapes that the Phoenix and the Nautilus had.  Little icicle-like points jutted out of its sides and towards the back of it, making it easy for it to maneuver through the harsh winds.  The word  _"Wyvern"_  was written across it in a color that matched the storm clouds around it, and parts of it were surrounded in white, misty clouds than ran around it like rivers.  Prussia slowly put the ship on autopilot and openly gawked at how majestic it looked.  It was both beautiful  _and_  deadly, kind of like him.  
  
England only blinked and started towards the exit to the main room. "Take your time looking and be grateful you can," he said.  "The Scandinavians don't like to be found.  Especially during a war.  But I believe they can be convinced to join our cause.  Russia, Poland, you'll accompany me over to their ship.  Denmark and Norway want an audience with us."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> German:  
> Vater Fritz, führen meine Hand - Father Fritz, guide my hand  
> Gott Sei Dank - Thank God 
> 
> Russian:  
> Я взять на себя - I'll take over  
> О, Киев - Oh, Kiev (Since Kiev was Russia's ancestor, it makes sense that he would say something like that) 
> 
> Old English/Magic words:  
> Æðelings sylfum Sæmann, ácýðan stendeaþ - Sons of Vikings, show yourselves


	13. Notes from the Author

Okay! I'm not dead, I promise! I haven't been on here in a while, but there is a perfectly plausible reason for that. I've started college, so schoolwork has been taking up most of my time. I've also been working on an original piece that is going to be a LOT bigger than any of my stories here. I also have a little writer's block on most of my unfinished fics, and I hope that I can get back on writing them soon. So even if it takes a few years and I don't mark them as discontinued, I WILL finish them--count on it.


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